


Act of Persuasion

by el3anorrigby



Series: Illya and Napoleon Drabbles [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3anorrigby/pseuds/el3anorrigby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damn Illya and his persuasive ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Act of Persuasion

Another mission, another dossier to read. Napoleon's getting pretty sleepy but knowing he'd have no time to finish the documents tomorrow, he forces himself awake although the writings on the paper are getting pretty smaller as minutes roll by. He's definitely drifting off. Maybe Waverly won't mind so much if he gets some minor details wrong regarding their mission target. Deciding to call it in, he chucks the dossier onto his bedside table, folds his arms underneath his head and closes his eyes. But just as he is about to drift off, he hears that familiar voice calling him out.

"Cowboy?"

That's definitely Illya. Nobody else calls him that with much affection. Did he sneak into his subconscious somehow? Napoleon doesn't care. He just wants to sleep. He decides to ignore the voice. Suddenly he feels the mattress underneath him shifts. Something or someone's body weight is pressing onto him and he feels something soft like hair tickling his cheek and neck. Napoleon groans. He slowly opens one eye to find Illya almost sprawled on top of him. He's resting his head and one arm on top of Napoleon's chest. His other arm is flung across Napoleon's body, his hand curling around his shoulder slightly. At first Napoleon thinks he's dreaming. When he tries to turn, he realises his movement is restricted and the warm body on top of his is as real as it gets. He blinks.

"Uhh what do you think you're doing, Peril?" Napoleon asks, as full consciousness seeps into him completely. He wants to push Illya off but finds his fingers threading his hair instead. 

"Gaby's dancing and her music is too loud. I'm trying to sleep," Illya murmurs. 

Napoleon cocks an eyebrow at his explanation. "And that warrants you to invade my privacy like this?" 

"There is nowhere else to sleep."

"Hmm, actually if you bother to look, there's a perfectly good sofa outside."

"Is not comfortable," Illya grumbles. Napoleon asks too many questions for his own good. He grunts then curls his hand tighter around Napoleon. "This is much better for me."

Napoleon rolls his eyes but his fingers are still running through Illya's hair. 

"Okay, but you do realise I am not a giant pillow?"

At that Illya finally lifts his head and looks up at Napoleon's face with half lidded eyes. If the American is trying to sound annoyed, he's failed tremendously so far. Those fingers running through his hair, subtly making him purr, is proof enough that Napoleon is secretly enjoying their closeness. For a moment Illya just wants to lean up and shuts him up with a kiss but tries his best not to give in to temptation. And he also knows he can scoot a little to his right in the impossibly small bed but cuddling with his arm around Napoleon is a much better option. 

In the end, he doesn't answer Napoleon's question, shrugs and leans his head down once again, feigning sleepiness.

"Just let me sleep, Cowboy. We've to wake up early tomorrow. Good night," he half mumbles. 

Napoleon knows then he's lost out on their argument. Damn Illya and his persuasive ways. 

"I'll let you off but next time I'm going to ensure Waverly never chucks us in a small hotel like this."

He doesn't get the response he wants from Illya. In the end he sighs. He can't possibly sleep after that so he grabs the dossier at his bedside once again and continues to read where he'd left off. His arms bracket around Illya and once in awhile, when he's a little bit weary, he'll pause his reading and kisses the top of Illya's head. How he'd agree to let Illya snuggle this close to him Napoleon will never know. 

And if he falls asleep on the job tomorrow he'll definitely know who to put the blame on to.

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble was inspired by a piece of Illya/Napoleon art I stumbled on. Can't figure out how to share it on AO3. However I hope u don't mind the fluff once again <3


End file.
